These days, even when he came into the office, he seemed distracted. There was barely a good morning kiss. No smouldering look to send her pulse rate soaring and have her anticipating what might happen later. It was as if the Isobel she had been—the woman he desired and lusted after—was disappearing. She felt as if the old, invisible Isobel had returned to take her place. As if a switch had been flicked in Tariq’s mind and it would never be the same again.
She tried telling herself it was because he was busy—but deep down she suspected a different reason for his distance. After all, she’d seen it happen countless times before, with other women. One minute they were flavour of the month, and the next they were like unwanted leftovers, lying congealed on the side of the plate.
The question was, what was she going to do about it? Was she going to sit back and let him push her away—gradually chipping at her already precarious self-esteem—until she was left with nothing? Or was she going to be proactive enough to reach out and take control of her life? Should she just face up to him and ask whether they were to consign their affair to memory?
Until she realised that Tariq’s apparent lack of interest was the least of her worries. And that there were some things which were of far more pressing concern …
She told herself that the nausea she was experiencing was a residual from the brief burst of sickness she’d had, caused by some rogue fish she’d eaten. That the slight aching in her breasts was due to her hormones, nothing else. She was on the pill, wasn’t she? And the pill was blissfully safe. Everyone knew that.
But the feeling of nausea began to worsen, and so did the aching in her breasts. And then Tariq said something which made her think that perhaps she wasn’t imagining it …
It happened that weekend, when she was staying over at his apartment. It seemed ages since they’d spent two whole days together, and she loved being there when they didn’t have work the next day. It was the closest she ever felt to him—as if she was a real girlfriend, rather than a secretary who had just got lucky.
It was early on the Sunday morning that he made his observation. Half-asleep, he had begun to kiss her, his hands to caress her breasts, and she had given a little sigh and nestled back against the soft bank of pillows.
‘Izzy?’ he murmured. ‘Have you put on a little weight, do you think?’
She stiffened beneath the practised caress of his fingers. ‘Why?’ she blurted out. ‘Do you think I’m getting fat?’
‘There’s no need to be so defensive.’ He blew softly onto the hollow of her breastbone. ‘You’re slender enough to carry a few extra pounds. Men like curves—I’ve told you that before.’
But his words only increased her sense of anxiety, and she was almost relieved when the phone in his study began ringing and he swore a little before going off to answer it. It was the one phone he never ignored—the private line between him and his brother’s palace in Khayarzah.
Isobel could hear him speaking in a lowered voice, so she took the opportunity to head for the bathroom down the corridor—the one he never used. Her heart was racing as she closed the door, and the terrible taste of fear was in her mouth. And she knew that she could no longer put off the moment of truth.
She flinched as she saw the image which was reflected back at her in the full-length mirror. Her face was paper-pale and her eyes looked huge and haunted, but it was her body which disturbed her. Like most women, she was not usually given to staring at her naked self, but even she could see that her breasts looked swollen and the nipples were much darker than usual.
Was she pregnant? Was she?
For a moment she lowered her head, to gaze at the pristine white surface of the washbasin. She remembered how unequivocal Tariq had been about not wanting children—and clearly it hadn’t been an idle declaration. Hadn’t she witnessed for herself how cold he could be when he was around them? Why, he’d barely touched Omar or Azzam the other day—he’d seemed completely unmoved by their presence when everyone else had been cooing around them.
She wanted to sink to her knees and pray for some kind of miracle. But she couldn’t afford to have hysterics or to act rashly. She needed time to think, and she needed to stay calm.
Quickly, she showered and put on jeans and a shirt, feeling the slight tug as she fastened the buttons across her chest.
The silence in the apartment told her that Tariq had finished his conversation, and in bare feet she padded along the corridor to find him standing in his study. He was staring out of the window, his powerful body silhouetted against the dramatic view.
When he turned round, he didn’t comment on the fact that she had showered and dressed. A couple of weeks ago he would have growled his displeasure and started removing her clothes immediately, but not now—and a wave of regret washed over her for something between them which seemed to be lost.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she questioned.
He stared at her, his eyes focussing on her pale skin and anxious eyes, and a heavy sense of sadness enveloped him. What had happened to his smart and wisecracking Izzy? He felt the heavy beat of guilt, aware of the enormity of what he had done. In typical Tariq fashion he had seen and he had conquered. Selfishly, he had listened to the voracious demands of his body and taken her as his lover, refusing to acknowledge the thoughtlessness of such an action.
She had been too inexperienced to resist the powerful lure of lust when it had swept over them so unexpectedly. He should have known better and he should have resisted. But he had not. He had done what he always did—he had taken and taken, knowing that he had nothing to give back.
And now he was left with the growing suspicion that he was going to lose the best assistant he’d ever had. For how could they carry on like this, when much of her natural spontaneity seemed to have been eroded by the affair?
He could tell that something had changed. It was as if she was walking on eggshells. He noticed that she kept biting back her words—which usually meant that a woman was falling in love with him, that she was weighing up everything she said for fear of how he would interpret it. And all these negative feelings would snowball—he knew that, too. How could he possibly face her in the office if her reproachful looks were to continue and the gap between them widened daily?
‘Tariq?’
Her soft voice broke into his troubled thoughts. ‘What?’
‘I wondered if anything was wrong.’
‘Wrong?’
She looked at him questioningly, telling herself that it was her business to know what was going on his life. But deep down she wanted to clear that scary look of distraction from his face. To have him talk to her. Properly.
‘The phone call you’ve just had from Khayarzah?’ she elaborated. ‘I hope everything’s okay with your brother?’
With an effort, he focussed on the conversation he’d just finished. ‘Zahid wants my help with a relative of ours.’
‘Oh?’
‘A distant cousin of mine, from my mother’s side,’ he explained. ‘Her name is Leila, and she’s in trouble.’
Isobel’s face blanched as she wondered if the gods were taunting her. Because hadn’t that expression always been a euphemism for a particular kind of predicament in which a woman sometimes found herself? Was it possible that a cruel fate was about to inflict not one but two unplanned pregnancies on the al Hakam family?
‘Trouble?’ she questioned hoarsely. ‘What kind of trouble?’
‘It seems she’s decided she wants to junk university and go off to America to be a model. Can you imagine?’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Zahid thinks that she needs to be shown the error of her ways, and he thinks that I may just be able to sort things out.’
‘I see.’ Isobel nodded. Was she imagining the relief on his face—as if he was anticipating an adventure which would fully occupy him for the foreseeable future? As if he was pleased to have a bone fide reason to unexpectedly leave the country? ‘Why does he think that?’
‘He says that my uniquely west
ern perspective might help persuade her. That I’ve seen enough of that kind of world to convince her that it’s all starvation and cigarettes and people who will try to exploit her.’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing that need concern you—but I’m going to fly out later tonight, if you could make sure the new jet is ready for me?’
Two things occurred to her at the same time. The first was that he still came and went exactly as he pleased—becoming her lover had not curtailed his freedom in any way at all. And the second was that she knew there was no way she could announce her momentous news. Not when he was about to go on some mission of mercy for his brother. Not when she hadn’t even had it confirmed. And until she did then surely there was always the chance that it was nothing but a false alarm?
But her decision didn’t give her any peace of mind. She was still left with nagging doubts. Tariq was leaving to go back to his homeland, and suddenly she didn’t know where her place in his life should be. She struggled to a find common ground.
‘Did … did your brother and his wife enjoy themselves in London last week?’ she asked.
‘I assume so.’
‘They didn’t mention it?’
He raised dark brows. ‘Should they have done?’
‘Just … well, I thought it was quite a fun evening, that’s all.’
‘Indeed it was.’ He gave a brief smile, preoccupied with his forthcoming trip and pleased to have something to take his mind of the damned tension between them. ‘But they have a hectic life, you know, Izzy. Pretty much wall-to-wall socialising wherever they are.’
It was the hint of aloofness in his tone which made Isobel stiffen. That and the patronising sense that she had stepped over some invisible line of propriety. As if she had dared to look on the King and his wife as some sort of equals, instead of people she’d been lucky enough to meet only on a whim of Tariq’s.
‘Silly of me,’ she said lightly.
There was a pause as she forced herself to acknowledge the tension which had sprung up between them and which now seemed there all the time. She didn’t know when exactly it had happened, but it wouldn’t seem to go away. Like a pebble dropped into a pond, the ripples carried on for ages after the stone had plopped out of sight.
She knew what was going on because she’d witnessed it countless times before. Tariq was beginning to tire of her and he wanted the affair to be over—with the least possible disruption to him.
She thought of how the situation might pan out. He might decide to stay longer in Khayarzah than he’d intended. Or he might slot in lots of extra trips abroad which would seamlessly and physically separate them. And when they finally came face to face back in the office so much time would have passed that it would be easy to consign the whole affair to history.
Easy for him, perhaps—but not for her. She hadn’t done this kind of thing before. Unlike him, she was no good at pretending.
Wasn’t it better to face the truth head-on—no matter how difficult that might be? To confront reality rather than trying to airbrush it away? Wouldn’t that at least go some way to restoring her pride and making sure she didn’t whittle away at her self-respect until there was nothing left but an empty husk?
She forced a smile. ‘Tariq, I’ve been thinking.’
Something in her tone made his eyes narrow. ‘Oh?’
Her heart was hammering, but she forced herself to look directly into his eyes. ‘I’m due a lot of holiday—and I was wondering if I might take the chance to use up some of my entitlement while you’re away? Fiona’s pretty much up to speed, and she’s perfectly capable of running your office.’
Tariq stiffened as he heard the sudden formality of her tone. Holiday entitlement. Fiona running his office. He met her tawny gaze and felt a brief spear of something like pain as he realised what she was doing. Izzy was clever, he conceded. Clever enough to sense that he was cooling towards her.
‘Is that really necessary?’ he said.
It was a loaded question. She knew it, and he knew it too. Isobel nodded her head. ‘I think so. I think we need to give each other a little space, Tariq. This … affair has been pretty amazing, but I suspect it’s run its course—don’t you?’ She stared at him, willing him to say no. Longing for him to pull her into his arms and tell her she was out of her mind.
Tariq looked at her and felt a wave of admiration underpinned by a fleeting sense of regret. For, although he knew that this was the perfect solution, he was going to miss her as a lover. But relationships never stayed static. Already he could sense that she wanted more from him. More than he could ever give. And if he allowed her these weeks of absence mightn’t she come back refreshed and able to put the whole thing behind her? Couldn’t they go back to what they’d had before? That easy intimacy they’d shared before they had allowed sex to complicate everything?
Briefly, he acknowledged the stab of hurt pride that she should be the one to end it. But why shouldn’t he be the one on the receiving end of closure for a change? Mightn’t it do him some good?
‘I think you could be right,’ he said slowly.
‘You do?’ Could he hear the disappointment which had distorted her voice?
He nodded. ‘I do. Maybe it’s better we stop it now before it impacts on our working relationship.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ she agreed, gritting her teeth behind her smile. Wanting to lash out at him for his naïveté. Did he really think it hadn’t impacted on their working relationship already?
‘And you deserve a break,’ he said, his gaze drifting over her face. ‘Why don’t you get some sun on your cheeks? You look awfully pale, Izzy.’
Dimly, she registered his words, and they gave her all the confirmation she needed. He thought that a short spell in the sun was all she needed to bring her back to normal. Oh, if only it was that easy. A strange dizziness was making her head spin. For a moment she felt icy-cold beads of sweat pricking her forehead and the sudden roar of blood in her ears.
‘Izzy?’ He was grabbing hold of her now, hot concern blazing from his black eyes. ‘For heaven’s sake! What’s the matter?’
His fingers were biting into her arms, but she shook them off and pulled herself away. Gripping onto the edge of the desk, she sucked in deep breaths of air and prayed she wouldn’t pass out.
Tell him.
‘Izzy?’
Tell him.
But the words wouldn’t come—they stayed stubbornly stuck at the back of her throat and she swallowed them down again. I’ll tell him when I know for sure, she thought. When he gets back.
‘I’m fine, Tariq. Honestly. I just feel a little off-colour, that’s all. Must have been something I ate. And now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’d better see about your jet. And then I’ll ring through to Fiona and have her sit in on our meeting.’
She waited until she’d spoken to the airfield, and then calmed an excited Fiona’s nerves, telling her that of course she could cope with running Tariq’s office.
And it was only then that Isobel slipped along to the thankfully empty sanctuary of the bathroom, where she was violently sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS confirmed.
The blue line couldn’t be denied any longer—and neither could the test Isobel had done the day before, or the day before that. Because all the tests in the world would only verify what she had known all along. And all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change that fact.
She was pregnant with Prince Tariq al Hakam’s baby. The man who had told her in no uncertain terms that he had no desire to have a baby was going to be a father.
Feeling caged and restless, she stared out of the window at the red bus which was lumbering down the road below. It was stuffy and hot in her tiny flat, but she felt too tired to face walking to the nearest park. She’d been feeling tired a lot recently …
Little beads of sweat ran in rivulets down her back, despite the thin cotton dress and the windows she’d opened onto the airless day. Somehow summer had arrived without her really
noticing—but maybe that wasn’t so surprising. In the two weeks since Tariq had flown out to Khayarzah she certainly hadn’t been focussing on the weather.
Her thoughts had been full of the man whose seed was growing inside her—and she had a strange feeling of emptiness at being away from work. For once she couldn’t even face going down to the cottage, where the memories of Tariq would have been just too vivid.
She’d always thought there was something slightly pathetic about people who haunted the office while they were supposed to be on holiday, and so she hadn’t rung in to work either. Fiona would contact her soon enough if she needed her help, and so far she hadn’t.
Which made Isobel feel even emptier than she already did. As if she had made herself out to be this fabulous, indispensable addition to the Al Hakam empire when the reality was that she could quite easily be replaced.
And she had heard nothing from Tariq. Not even an e-mail or text to tell her he was alive and well in Khayarzah. If anything proved that it was all over between them, it was the terrifying silence which had mushroomed since his departure.
There had been times when she’d been tempted to pick up the phone, telling herself that she had a perfect right to speak to him. Wasn’t he still her boss, even if he was no longer her lover? But she wasn’t a good enough actress for that. How could she possibly have a breezy conversation with him, as if nothing was happening, when inside her body their combined cells were multiplying at a frightening speed?
And what would she say? Would she be reduced to asking him whether it was really over between them—and hearing an even bigger silence echoing down the line?
No. She was going to have to tell him face to face. She knew that. And soon. But how did you break the news that he was going to be a father to a man who had expressly told you he didn’t want children? And not just any father—because this wasn’t just any baby. It was a royal baby, with royal blood coursing through its tiny veins—and that would have all kinds of added complications. She knew enough history to realise that the offspring of ruling families were always especially protected because royal succession was never certain. Wouldn’t that make Tariq feel even more trapped into a life he had often bitterly complained about?
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